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Life never did come with a guarantee
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| Purple and Pink |
[08 Sep 2008|02:32am] |
He had been in trouble a few times but when I met him he was cleaning himself up. He swore he would never go back to jail and I told him that if he ever did I would be gone. To his honor he never did go back. Sometimes I wish he had, maybe then I would still have my sanity.
Twenty-three years. I had been with him (on and off) for twenty-three years. His drinking wasn't a problem for the first fifteen, and it took another three for me to realize how bad it really was. I remember with perfect clarity the night it all came crashing down. It's funny, I can no longer remember the horrible names he called me or which glasses he broke against the wall, but this night will forever be ingrained into my memory as the beginning of the end. Or perhaps a more accurate analogy would be the bullet that puts a road-rashed deer out of his misery.
It was four-thirty on a Tuesday morning when he finally came home from the bar. His eyes were bloodshot and his breath wreaked of vodka. He saw me sitting at the kitchen table. I expected him to try and stumble through some drunken excuse but instead he stumbled into the kitchen and tried to drunkenly wrap his arms around me. I pushed him away and glared at him. Usually he quailed under that look but tonight he was too wasted to take notice. I pushed him away again and stood up.
"Baby," I started.
"Oh, baby, you look so sexy tonight..."
"No," I said, yet again pushing his hands off of me. "No way. I told you --"
"I'm sorry. Babe--Baby. Look at me. Look at me." I sighed and looked up at his eyes. He was staring blearily at my left cheek. "I love you, baby. You know that."
"Yes, I know, but --"
"No buts. I love you. You love me. That's all that matters." He leaned in to kiss me. I leaned back.
"It's not all that matters --"
"Kiss me when I'm trying to kiss you, please," he said quietly. It was always something he hated. I just shook my head.
"It's useless trying to talk to you when you're like this. Go to bed."
I've never seen him look so angry. He stared at me for a few seconds, then his hand reached out quick, so quick, much faster than I thought his drunken self was capable of, and grabbed the hair at the back of my head. He pulled me in hard and forced my lips to his. I struggled away. He slapped me. I gaped at him, open-mouthed. He grabbed my hair with both hands and yanked me back to him.
I was scared and in shock. For a second I considered just giving in for fear of being hurt worse. As soon as the thought came into my head it filled me with such disgust towards him and myself. It fueled me with anger and I began to hit and punch him wherever my hands could reach. He was stronger and bigger than me, and had enough alcohol in him that my attacks didn't even phase him. I drew my knee up fast and hard and finally he went down. I refused to feel any pity as he rolled, wheezing on the ground. I grabbed my wallet, phone, and car keys off the kitchen table and walked out. A loud ringing in my ears almost blocked out the, "Baby, wait, baby, please..."
I bought a pack of cigarettes from an all-night gas station and parked my car on a side street. After letting three burn down almost untouched I gave up and let myself cry. I knew now that I had to leave him. I knew I couldn't let myself go back to the alcoholic monster he'd become and that knowledge hurt worse than my cheek where he hit it or my hair where he'd yanked it. My phone rang. It was him, of course. I didn't answer. It rang and rang and rang. After the fourth or fifth time he left a voicemail. Curiosity and a small amount of lingering respect for our eighteen year history made me to listen to it.
It was a long, rambling, drunken message with a lot of heavy breathing, as though he was trying not to cry. The only time I ever saw him cry was when his father passed away.
"I love you so much," the message began. "You're the only one who's ever always been there for me." It went on for a few minutes but I couldn't understand much beyond the occasional word. Near the end he seemed to get himself together, and it ended: "And now you're gone, too, and it's all my fault and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You'll never hear from me again. I promise I'm done hurting you. I'm done with all of it.
"I love you, baby. When you remember me, remember us, please remember the good times. I want you to be happy when you think of me. I want... I want you to be happy.
"Goodbye."
I raced back to the house. No matter how angry I was, no matter if I wasn't going back to him anyway, I couldn't let him kill himself. Though I thought it was just an attempt to get me to come back, I still couldn't take that chance. I drove all the way across town in less than five minutes and walked in the front door to find him loading his shotgun. Somehow I managed to talk the gun from his hands and put him in bed. I stayed up all night to make sure he didn't try anything else. The following morning I told him that I was leaving, and that I was taking his shotgun. He wasn't happy, but he wasn't drunk enough to force it from me. I told him he needed to quit his drinking. I told him he needed to get help. I told him to call me on his ninety days and we'll talk. He didn't say anything, just nodded his head to everything I said. I left.
Later, he got angry. Every few days he called me and told me to bring his gun back. He said he would call the police. I knew he was bluffing, he knew I knew he was bluffing. He still hated pigs from his younger days. I told him over and over again that I wouldn't give it back until he promised me he wouldn't use it on himself. For weeks and weeks he wouldn't do it. His friends and family members called me, yelled at me to give it back. They didn't know how bad he was, they didn't want to know. He doesn't have a drinking problem, they told me, as if they would know better than I would.
A few months went by where I didn't hear from him. Then he called and asked if he could stop by. I said no. I said I wanted nothing to do with him until he made the promise. He did. He promised me. And he always kept the promises he made to me. I took the gun over to his house. He begged me to stay. Begged me to come back. I told him I would come back when I had proof that he was getting help. Because after it all I still loved him. I still hoped he could get through it and that we could be happy again.
Four years later he was still drinking. I couldn't bring myself to leave him completely. I was the only good thing in his life and I knew it. So I would still go over to his place now and again when he needed me. I still checked up on him and we still talked on the phone and went out to dinner every couple of months. Every time he would ask me to stay, and every time I broke my heart telling him I wouldn't. He half-heartedly went to a few AA meetings, but that didn't last long. One night he called. I could tell by his voice he was drunk again. He asked me to come over. To come over and stay over. I wouldn't. I was angry that he quit going to AA. I was angry that he would even call me so trashed and ask me to come over when he knew how strongly I felt. He begged me, pleaded. I wouldn't budge. Then he just gave up.
"Alright. I didn't really expect you to. I understand. I wouldn't come see me, either."
I was so angry. I knew he was just trying to guilt me again. Well, this time I wouldn't give in. I turned off my phone and tried to turn off my mind.
That night he propped up his feet with my favorite blanket, the purple one with the white unicorn, and blew his promise all over the wall.
I will never understand why he did it. I will never understand why he would rather die than be with me. I know that's a twisted way to look at it, but I told him if he would put down the bottle we could pick up where we left off, but he didn't.
I will never be rid of this guilt. I will never be rid of the nagging belief that if I had gone over that night he would be alive today. I know I can't be held responsible for his actions but fucking hell, if I had gone, if I had been there for him like he needed me to be, like no one else ever was for him, he might have pulled through.
I will never stop hating him for breaking his promise. The last twenty-three years he had kept every promise he had ever made me, big and small. He never went back to jail, he got me that puppy for my 27th birthday, he never cheated or had any sort of affair. Why did this one, this last one, this most important one have to be the one shattered like my glasses, like his skull, like my heart?
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| I'm not sure if maybe my creativity creates my insanity or my insanity causes my creativity. |
[21 Aug 2008|11:53am] |
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I'm not sure if maybe my creativity creates my insanity or my insanity causes my creativity.
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| Invitation to submit to new variety webzine |
[21 Aug 2008|03:42am] |
Hi everyone, I invite all the artists in this community, and anyone else you may know, to submit artwork or writing to our new literary/artistic/cultural/nature and travel writing/scientific webzine Synchronized Chaos!
Information on the zine and how to submit, from the Facebook group http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=20763137372&ref=mf :
This is all of our new brainchild, an art/cultural/literary/scientific/social commentary/essay webzine tentatively called "Synchronized Chaos" (referring to some kind of not-obviously-apparent logic that emerges spontaneously from randomnity, basically a fun way to have a theme without having a theme.)
Sort of a way to help the aspiring artists we constantly meet to get their names out there and spotlight some excellent work which should have an audience but the artists don't want to go through the publication process. And to give people committed to worthwhile causes a way to speak out or to use their personal experiences to educate others.
Everyone's invited to submit (and everything should be accepted, unless it's obscene or hateful). If you are interested please send a submission via email anytime this summer. We're working towards setting up a regular editing board and designating people to handle certain kinds of submissions, but for now you may use my email, cedeptula@sbcglobal.net
We're online in a rough draft form (all the artwork and writing is posted by our promised deadline but the Word Press blog still needs customization, quotes, links, and pictures to make the site more navigable) at http://www.synchchaos.com and invite you to check it out! Think of it as a building in progress, with the scaffolding still attached but with some interesting posted architectural plans.
We are not a paying market as of yet but hope to become one as we grow and sell advertising and/or host contests. The magazine's online contents will remain free to provide artists and writers with the greatest level of exposure possible.
So far we have received a good variety of submissions, and look forward to more! We're also ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) chaos_zine on LJ and would be a publishing credit for any visual artist or writer to put on his/her bio or proposal or resume.
You may either pitch or send a completed product (attachments OK but prefer writing or thumbnails or JPEG images pasted in the body of the email.) Please put "Synchronized Chaos Submission" in the subject line and please feel free to include an artist statement or bio if you would like.
Also - our magazine is as much about building community and relationships with artists as it is about publication. We'd be happy to see artists and writers post and chat with each other in chaos_zine or on the Facebook page and would be glad to comment/critique or dialogue with you about your work if you would like.
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[20 Aug 2008|07:59pm] |
"summer blur"
summer streets flash
like an old movie projector
across my faded mind
sunshine
trees
yellow
green
too fast to follow
too blurred to separate
reality from dreams
love from pure fear
sunrise from sunset
lies from unwanted truth
indeed too jumbled together
to ever know the difference
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[20 Aug 2008|07:58pm] |
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her eyes are someone's friend
her smile is someone's lover
but her mind is your companion
she moves like a dancing dream
a carnival in front of me
whimsical and free
she's moonlight
soft and blue
she's blurred around the edges
and she's caught in a colorful daydream
she'll deceive you with a smirk
but go out on a rotting limb
to make you feel real.
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[20 Aug 2008|07:58pm] |
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who will be the savior to become the maid
who will ever be the arms to sway in the skies
and rain down in the streets
who will be the one to steal
frozen on a pedestal with a spear and a dream
and one thousand yellow daisies
romantic and magical and over the top
plundering like the vikings
victorious like the europeans
he comes in to take her
and he rapes and steals and lovers her
all the same
just like Zeus would if he knew of the zen heaven
and Slyvia Plath would if she never owned an oven
he is there inside her
and he leaves a lie behind
in a cloud of fractured truth
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| I See it in Your Eyes |
[11 Aug 2008|05:59pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
crappy |
] |
| [ |
music |
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"Wires," Athlete |
] |
"you got wires, goin in... you got wires, comin out of your skin. there's dry blood on your wrist; your dry blood on my fingertip..."
The incessant beeping of monitors, and the tangling of intravenous lines was something I thought I would only spy after we were eighty-years-old. I wanted to see a wrinkled-face man staring back at me... Not someone not even thirty, not someone who wasn't even the father of our unborn children, not someone who had not shared countless, wonderful memories with me.
I love the fact that you're still breathing air, but the fact that no one can point either of us in a direction to smile about bothers me. I haven't returned to work yet, because I'm terrified that I'll come home and things will only be getting worse.
We haven't been married a year, and already on repeat in my mind is doing everything to keep you living just a month longer. I know the medical bills are only piling up, and I know I'm only being a bitch about the money situation (our wonderful debt)... But I dare not speak about any of this to you because I only want you to be strong... I only want you to have the motivation to conquer what little of this ordeal you can, based on the odds.
Damn the day that another social worker gives me the paperwork to sign as a power of attorney.
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[11 Aug 2008|01:20am] |
Where is my release? Where are the words that always pour so effortlessly from my fingertips through the keyboard and onto my screen? The raw emotion and pain and suffering that I could so easily drain away with a pen? Where is the ink shining on the page, a mirror for the tears shining on my cheeks? I cannot articulate myself. Not even with my third person mask on can I let slip a paragraph, a line, a sentence to calm my screaming heart. Where has my eloquence gone? The sinews of my syntax have snapped and slipped away. I am empty of all creativity; I couldn't conjure a plot device to save my life. Why am I suddenly unable to wrap myself up in my language? To weave an intricate shield of words to protect my fragile mind? There is nothing inside me and it's not the good kind of empty. It's not the satiated emptiness that comes from unleashing my soul upon the page. It's the kind that the needle points to in my car when I have somewhere to be. It's the kind that urges me silently to drive my fist into the wall. There is nothing outside me, no piece to read, no poem or song or story to show for the feelings that consume me. There is nothing inside, there is nothing outside, I am empty and exposed.
My sentence structure is repeating
to the beat my heart is beating
and instead of this retreating
I wish I could be completing
some magic work of fiction
but I seem to have no diction,
my writing's full of friction.
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[01 Jul 2008|06:29pm] |
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i sold my life on the internet
the man who bought it
didn't realize
how much i was worth
the house i lived in
echoes now and holds a chill
everything i called my own
seems bigger now it's not mine
he paid for my life
in dirtied, worn cash
he'd been saving up
for something this big
i'm looking for a new life now
maybe i'll just buy
someone else's world
i went on TV to find a soulmate
all i found were plastic people
with paper mache hearts
and wax lips
they set me up with an actor
we went on a date
to my favorite italian place
but the conversation was scripted
and the laughter was pre-recorded
the cameras added 50lbs
and followed us all night
i should've known
souldmates don't exist
in sitcoms and gameshows
who knows anymore
if they're even real at all.
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| swallow us both |
[01 Jul 2008|12:13am] |
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this jealous haze of june
swallows us both
me against him in this parking lot of whores
with the lazy dew in the air
we stumble and struggle to breathe
but we never say the words
we both know are there.
cold beers turn to warm puddles
that swallow us both
me against this chevy in this driveway of cracked dreams
with the romantic hum of a guitar
we belong anywhere but here and now
but we're still combing through
for any sort of escape
and before i can latch on to an exit door
he looks at me to say
not all my songs are sad
only the ones i sing about you
and suddenly i've melted
down to the puddle
of warm beer in that parking lot
where it all sparked off.
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| Unreality Glitch |
[12 Jun 2008|10:56am] |
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I had a strange experience this morning. While I was dreaming, I heard Shawn's ring tone. It was out of place. In the dream, I was going to a UK ball game with someone. Then, I heard his cell phone ring. I looked for it, but I couldn't find where it was coming from. I didn't think more of it until I woke up.
I was staring at my clock. The time was 6:25AM. I set my clock a 1/2 hour ahead, a behavior left over from my college days; so, it was really right before 6AM. Then, while I was awake, I heard Shawn's cell phone again. This time, it was coming from my hallway, right outside my bedroom door. I heard foot steps walk away from my bedroom. Then, I heard him answer the phone in his low voice.
IMPOSSIBLE, I thought. He gave my key back. This isn't even remotely like him. He would have had to break in. Or did he copy the key without my knowledge? Still not like him. Oh Gawd. He isn't dead, or I would have felt him die. What the fuck is happening?
I heard the muffled conversation, but I couldn't make out the words. Footsteps were heard pacing back and forth through my hallway. Then, the footsteps returned to outside my bedroom door. My back was turned to the door as my eyes were still fixed on my clock. I heard the door open. Footsteps approached my bed. I still didn't understand why or how he was in my house. I felt him bend over me, as if to kiss me goodbye like he used to when he would spend the night. I raised my right hand, with my index finger extended, as if to ask for a moment. I needed a moment. I couldn't roll over. I couldn't talk. Nothing made sense to me. He hovered over me as I held my hand up for what seemed like several minutes. I finally gained enough composure to quickly flip myself over.
Much to my surprise, when I turned over, there was no one there. My bedroom door was closed. I turned back over to look at the clock. 6:28AM. Tears started to stream down my face, although, I didn't feel like I was crying. They almost felt like they weren't coming from my eyes. I grabbed my cell phone and sent Shawn a text message just to make sure he was okay.
He finally got back to me at 7:18AM. He was okay. He was sleeping while I had my little experience.
This one, I really can't explain.
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| i dunno if I even wana hear from him, but then agen I do |
[05 May 2008|02:20am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
wut to do? |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
narcolepsy ~3rd eye blind~ |
] |
it has been over a month, not sure bout anythin anymore. part of me doesn't want to hear y or if we ever will talk agen, other part is dyin to find out. its a complicated emotion. thats y i am gettin more headaches, I think to much and worry to much. its down right annoyin!! he did give me happpy memories, so now if I go, atleast I had that.
my first kiss was with a goood friend (to bad he was to drunk to remember it) first times wer with guys I met on the net.
ain't life grand???????????????????
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| I am seriously upset!!!!!!! |
[30 Apr 2008|01:13am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
destined to be lonely!! |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
harder to breathe ~maroon 5~ |
] |
I think, I might or hav lost him. I realize he has had alot to deal with, normally wen I sa talk to u soon and they say ok, don't go over a month without speakin. I'm upset, worried and sad all at once.
I would try mmy hardest to contact u, no matter wut or wher I am. sick in bed, hospital, if ther is any use of communication. no cell battery or reception (thrr r these things called homephones & payphones). just a simple hi or leavee me alone,vwill do. he knows that, if 4 any reason, to write me off, he better tell me, kuz I'll keep tryin, until u do.
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| I wanna know y??????? |
[16 Apr 2008|06:02pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
alwayz alone |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
crash and burn ~savage garden~ |
] |
it has been so long since, I heard from cute and fuzzy bunny. he sed "we always be friends, but I guess that was a lie. he was an amazin friend, the short time, less than a yr. but since I like to say I hav Irish in me, the luck of the irish, not all luck is good, I just happen to hav a life full of bad luck, course it is good luck I had him.
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| my dumb ass compputer |
[15 Apr 2008|01:01pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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alone in the world |
] |
| [ |
music |
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god must hate me ~simple plan~ |
] |
the wirin in the ac/dc adapter is either wearin out or sumthin, kuz it won't charge very well, unless its in a certain spot. very frustratin, I can't wait to get a new one.
latly, Brian and his girlfriendd hav been tellin me I hav alot to offer, but how can I, if no guy bothers to see or want it.
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| calm outside, screaming inside |
[08 Apr 2008|04:36am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
never will add up to others |
] |
| [ |
music |
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drift and die ~puddle of mudd~ |
] |
been over 2 wks, March 22. a lifetime 4 me, to go without speakin to sum1. I know hes sick, but 4 a wk, wut bout the rest of the time. its bad enuf to know we won't be as we were and hearin that maybe it was a mistake, now this is the cherry on top. I meen it would be a mistake, if I were Angel and lost my soul.
my life is a mistake and an inconvenient. y doesn't my my happiness ever last? my hearin loss, cost of doc bills and me havin people repeat wut they say, muscle weakness, more bills and I can't do much. friends, can't drive and mom so busy or I can't get a big time job.
winne the pooh: wherever you are
Come out moon
Come out wishing star
Come out
Come out
Wherever you are
I’m alone here in the dark
All alone and wide awake
Come and find me
I’m empty and I’m cold
And my heart is about to break
Come and find me
A need you to come here and find me
Cause without you I’m totally lost
I've hung a wish on every star
It hasn’t done much good so far
I can only dream of you
Wherever you are
I’ll hear you laugh
I’ll see you smile
I’ll be with you just for a while
But when the morning comes
And the sun begins to rise
I’ll lose you
Because it’s just a dream
When I open up my eyes
I’ll lose you
I use to believe in forever
But forever is to good to be true
I've hung a wish on every star
It hasn’t done much good so far
I don’t know what else to do
Except to try to dream of you
And wonder if you are dreaming to
Wherever you are
Wherever you are
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| I can't take it anymore, if u knew how it feels, its like I'm dyin!!!! |
[04 Apr 2008|02:04am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
y do guyz hate me so much? |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
self esteem ~offspring~ |
] |
13 days with no word from cute and fuzzy bunny. I realize and sumwut understand y the benefits stopped, but we agreed to stay friends. I didn't plan too get this close, let him in, open up, as much as I did.I'm slowly accepting it, but him avoidin me, makes it hurt so much worse. If he had a job wher he on cal like a sergon/fire fightter or military, I would undersand. sumtimes the get assingments that stop em from contact with civilians. 4 me ther is never an excuse to go this long without talkin. If I wer in the hospital I'd call or get sum11 to call u, deep in the mountain and no cell phone usage I'de find a house phone or pay phone.
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| my pathetic life!!! |
[01 Apr 2008|04:44am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
alwayz alone |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
wake me up ~evanescence~ |
] |
I hav had many heart breaks, but never had a bf. I'm 24, so thats rather pathetic abd hard, so not by choice. Rarely guys look twice at me, kuz I'm in wheelchair and no1 knows y.
my current heart break, was with benefits. we remained friends after, but talk less and I can't see him, it fuckin sux! been 10 dayz without wordall guys see me as "friend girl", never realationship like, I want more, but can't seem to figure out how!
my family plays a big part of my depression. I hav 2 older bro's, who hav big time excitin job. One travels alot and has a 4 yr gf, he has sum kinda law job. my oldest is a gr8 waiter, and has a 2 and a half son. I can't get a fulltime job (get tired easily), can't travel alone.
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| Choke, Icarus |
[01 Apr 2008|05:09am] |
|
Your suicide note was pointless; a ramble, a talk-show-radio rant your wife had said death would become you
your children were crying with purple, cosmic skins
knitting themselves back together, after you you: a rage, a lividity; you threw the sun agaisnt cement
he cried, his sister watched, his mother -
she downed a vodka before coming to his rescue
shaking, ink-stained hands ‘stop, icarus’ and you did.
and you flew:
your wings, made of wax
sizzled on the electricity lines
that snake from our houses to our streets
it worked as good as any other means; your wings
stitched together and ochre (of the earth), they fluttered
your final valediction: blue and red feathers, fluttering down
machinery whirred onwards, and we got your suicide letter in the mail
i asked ‘could icarus die?’ and my mother nodded, sombre
we lit a candle for you, and we saw your burning in its very middle
we held a service, and we wore your favourite skin shade
we said goodbye to your rotting face – i even kissed it
i kissed you, i mean
you: a quiet, choking, bloated face
emmett till without the rage
peaceful in your cartoon disgrace.
in context: this was written after the funeral of my uncle. yes, he died of suicide. or he chose it. whatever.
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